It was there—sitting on
my beach towel, burnt to a crisp, my hair stringy and wet, sand in every
possible crevice, a dog’s hot breath in my face—that my gaze lingered, catching
full sight of him. A soft curl of shaving cream swirled under my nose. I looked
up and gasped, resting my eyes on the most beautiful human being ever.
His full lips held me,
and his shock of thick black hair fell in waves over his head. He had a body
that I was sure entered most girl’s dreams at one point or another …as in all
of the time. The shaded stubble on his face was accented by dark sunglasses.
The muscle above my top
lip twitched, and my skin tingled with voltaic sensations. I scratched at my
arms, the itching already starting.
His smile curled my toes.
“Whoops, sorry about
that.” His deep voice oozed sweet, sexy politeness with just a touch of
Southern inflection. “Hope it didn’t hit you.”
I cleared my throat,
preparing to make it sound its utmost best. Usually, this backfired on me and
croaked out like a drunken frog. “No, not at all.” Ugh, yep …horrible, that frog had done it again.
My stomach welled with nausea. Fighting to find
the right words, I handed the saucer back to him, and a slight quiver quaked
through me when my hand brushed his.
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